Ascending Lauren

This narrative is part of a multi-part story that explores the sexual exploits of a Midwestern couple who wanted a change in locale, but are experiencing much, much more.

Warning: subject matter includes cuckoldress/cuckold humiliation. This story is tagged as such, so if you do not care for these types of tales, move on. You are your only enemy if you continue reading.

Those that do choose to continue, please know reading previous chapters will help you better understand the characters and their journey.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Anything depicted has no relation to past or current people and events. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over 18.

**************************************************************************************************

Note from IRL Lauren: For those of you who cannot fathom what wittols crave or find pleasure in, and are disgusted by same, please do yourself a favor and skip this. Like my husband Simple, they are wired differently and you'll never understand why if you do not have those proclivities. Even they don't understand why. You've been warned.

**************************************************************************************************

======================

Thursday, April 12th

======================

Two men cast their lines overboard from the deck of a sleek sailboat bobbing gently in the warm turquoise waters just off the coast of Fort Lauderdale. The salty ocean breeze carried with it the faint scent of seaweed and fish as hungry squawking gulls circled overhead, scanning for an opportunity to snatch up what the fishermen might discard.

"Really appreciate you asking me to come out here," Corey Miller nodded in the mid-April Florida sun, his eyes scanning the line for tension. It was not yet ten o'clock, but the temps were already in the eighties.

"Stick with me and we'll

both

have boats out here," Dale Dactyl grinned as he grabbed another beer from a cooler and handed it to his newest project lead. His unbuttoned white linen collared shirt fluttered in the wind, exposing a solid hairy salt-and-pepper chest.

The perspiring project manager graciously accepted the aluminum bottle and returned the smile, wishing his physique was as good as his host's. Although Dale's bank account was astronomically bigger than his own, there was little doubt the two were cut from the same cloth. Comparable in age - Corey was a few years older - their mutual love of fishing, classic rock, and the pair's hatred for formality and a similar laid-back attitude had convinced him that he and his new boss could easily become friends.

"Lauren would like that," Corey agreed.

"Yeah? She's a keeper then. How is she?" the billionaire entrepreneur asked with genuine interest. "I hope she's enjoying the coast."

"She is."

"When we first spoke, you mentioned she was a bit shy. Making friends?

You have no idea

, Corey thought. "She's opened up quite a bit since moving here, yes."

"Good, good. We still need to do lunch, all of us. Amanda is dying to meet her. How about two weeks next Saturday? A friend of ours has a gallery showing in Miami. We could have a bite to eat after. What do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan," Corey replied. Hobnobbing with the boss outside of the office could only bode well for his career and their budding friendship. Suddenly, his expression became somber. Sitting up on the bench seat, he took a drink and looked over at Dale. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Does everyone in Florida have such a liberal attitude towards sex?"

Dactyl lowered his sunglasses and looked over the brim at his employee as if assessing an answer that his HR person wouldn't give him grief over. He decided to gamble on the truth.

"The short answer is yes. Well, at least from Boca on down. West Palm has a lot of older folks, but most of them are still pretty hip. Sun, skin, beautiful women, bikinis, and coke tend to loosen people up. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

Dale laughed. "Suffice it to say, when they're not doing it, they're thinking about it. A bit different than Iowa, huh?"

"A tad."

The construction magnate chuckled, studied his guest, then leaned back, pushing his Persol's into place.  "You, uh, looking to expand your horizons? Things can get pretty weird on the Gold Coast."

"What?"

"Is the little lady getting behind?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Well..."

Dactyl got up and grabbed a couple sandwiches from the refrigerator. "Relax, I didn't mean anything. Marriage is a fickle beast, you know? Sometimes things get stale. And down here, there's no shortage of ways to keep it fresh."

Corey furrowed his brow. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about that statement felt...unfinished.

"Let's eat," Dale gestured towards the hoagies. "I'm fucking starving."

Taking the cue, the older man sat down and unwrapped a sub. The two sat and munched hungrily, dreading the return to the office where they had several tough meetings that afternoon.

Meetings that would not go well.

+++++

Lauren Miller stood behind the sneeze guard of a cafeteria line, equipped with a large spoon and metal tongs. With a warm smile and a brief conversation, she greeted each homeless guest as they passed her station, extending acrylic plates for her to place vegetables and meatloaf onto. Most of the guests expressed gratitude for the food, returning the smile. However, some looked away in embarrassment and hopelessness as they accepted the food, weighed down by the circumstances that had led them to the Soup Galley Mission in downtown Miami that night.

It was here that Lauren found solace. After volunteering at Christmas with Corey, she made it a point to return whenever she could. Despite feeling somewhat overwhelmed thinking about the broken lives that passed through her station, it provided her with a sense of purpose amidst the chaos that had consumed her life in the past year. Unlike many other professions, office managers often didn't receive the same level of satisfaction in helping others. Doctors, nurses, lawyers, and even veterinarians aided someone every day. The soup kitchen provided Lauren with some comfort in knowing that in some small way, she was making a difference in someone's life.

With Corey in Fort Lauderdale, Lauren had decided to stop by that afternoon to lend a hand. Between spoonfuls of green beans, her eyes wandered down the long serving line towards the front door. The kitchen was set to close in thirty minutes and many in needy Miami were still looking for a hot meal. With hands wrapped in hot pads, she carefully lifted an empty pan of meat off the serving line, placed it on a waiting cart that had been wheeled from the kitchen, and replaced it with a full pan. Removing her gloves, Lauren looked up to serve the next guest and was surprised by a familiar face.

Nate Jackson.

It was a beard she'd never forget, especially the scar that stretched from behind one ear to his chin. This was the unlikely hero who scared off the thugs trying to rob her in an alleyway at Christmas time. His alley. Lord knows what those two boys would have done had he not been there.

"Well, hello stranger," Lauren grinned while filling his plate. "I don't think I've ever seen you here before."

With little expression, the large black man shrugged. "I could say the same about

you

."

That caused Lauren to pause.

He's right, I should come around more often

. As she looked down at the steaming pile the Mission considered a meal, she could see in his eyes that the once proud man was not accustomed to taking handouts.

"Thank you," Nate mumbled as he stepped aside to make room for the next person.

Lauren watched as he walked over to a rickety picnic table and sat down with other strangers. His gait was slow, as if he was carrying the weight of years of struggles on his shoulders, but he stood tall and imposing, as if to salvage some dignity. During a lull in the line, she glanced over to find him eating quietly, avoiding conversation with those around him. Likely in his mid-fifties, he had an unkempt beard that hung down past his chin, and his hair was gray and straggly, framing a face and neck that were wrinkly and leathery from living outdoors. Dressed in a tattered brown hoodie and old, worn-out jeans that were ripped and stained with dirt, his feet were clad in only a pair of tattered flip-flops that looked too small on the large feet that carried his six-foot-seven frame. Her curiosity piqued.

What was his story? How did he end up here?

As the line began to thin, Lauren turned off the warmers and began to wipe down her station. When she happened to look to where Nate had been seated, the big man was no longer there. Nor was he anywhere in the dining room. With some sadness, she finished cleaning and stowing the leftovers in the walk-in refrigerator before retrieving her purse and cardigan sweater from lockers volunteers were assigned. It was an unusually cool mid-March evening, and she was glad to have brought the extra layer to put over the black sleeveless sheath dress she'd worn to work that day.

Stepping out of the Mission's entrance, Lauren scanned the street with caution. While soup kitchens were necessary for those in need, the area surrounding them could be a bit rough. It was already dark, and there was little traffic except for a rickshaw rental whose driver had stopped nearby to grab a pack of smokes from the Vape-n-Go. Lauren considered calling a ride-share but changed her mind when she spotted the faint glow of a cigarette being shared among several men across the street. The figures were shrouded in shadows, but one of them bore an uncanny resemblance to Nate, standing tall and imposing over the others. With trepidation, she watched as beams from a passing tow truck confirmed her suspicions - it was Nate.

Taking a deep breath, Lauren gathered her courage and cautiously approached the smokers. As she neared, they fell silent, their downtrodden eyes sizing her up from head to toe. The pungent body odor was hard to ignore, and one of the younger men whistled before starting to say something snarky under his breath. But his words were cut short when Nate placed a firm hand on his shoulder with a stern glare.

"Mind your manners," the larger black man scolded his friend.

Lauren raised her hand, wiggling her fingers in a friendly greeting. "Hi Nate," she said warmly.

"Fifth Street," Jackson reluctantly acknowledged her presence, stepping in front of the others. He seemed to be annoyed that she had intruded on their conversation, muttering under his breath about women in fancy clothes not belonging in these parts.

"I just wanted to thank you again for helping me that day," Lauren said sincerely.

"Just protecting my turf," he replied gruffly. It was clear that he didn't want to discuss his motives for saving her, and Lauren didn't press the issue. There was a glint of benevolence in his eyes, despite his gruff exterior.

"What do you want?" Jackson asked brusquely, turning away from her. "We don't have anything to talk about." He seemed dismissive of her presence and unwilling to engage in conversation.

Lauren frowned and reached out tentatively, lightly touching his elbow while trying to maintain eye contact. Despite their differences, she felt a connection with Nate and was determined to understand more about him and his life on the streets. "

Please

? Just for a minute."

Nate sighed and looked down at the petite brunette. "Five minutes, then you go, okay?" He knew how mean the streets turned after dark.

The tinkling sound of a bicycle bell rang out as the rickshaw that had been parked down the street pulled even with them, now with a cigarette chomping Asian driver. Lauren's Dior dress and Coach purse had been like beacons to the entrepreneur.

"Pretty lady and handsome man want ride? Twenty dollars, take you anywhere." Lauren burst out laughing while Nate tried hard not to smile.

"C'mon," she tugged on his sleeve, "it'll be fun."

Nate dropped his shoulders, reluctantly giving in. Spending a few minutes with a beautiful woman would beat hours with his smelly street buddies any day. He watched for a moment while Lauren attempted to pull herself up into the back of the three-wheeled, hooded cart. It was not an easy task in heels. Seeing her struggle, he thought twice about it, then very gingerly grasped her tiny waist to give her a boost. The last thing he needed was for some rich lady to think he was being inappropriate. As he lifted her, the back of the dress brushed against a cheek, and he caught a whiff of her Chanel perfume. It had been a very long time since he'd been that close to a woman who smelled so good.

After the two settled on the back bench seat under a surrey top outlined in bright white LED lights, the driver began to peddle nowhere in particular. Nate sat silently looking at the passing storefronts, avoiding eye contact with the wealthy uptown resident who seemed so determined to talk. He was clearly out of his element. It had been years since he'd even been in a car, much less this glitzy mode of transportation he only saw tourists use.

Lauren could sense the giant's nervousness and decided to keep things lighthearted.

"Where are you from?"

Jackson rolled his eyes but did not look at her. It was almost as if he was afraid to.

"Mobile."

"Alabama, huh? War Eagle!"

That got enough of Nate's attention to turn and correct her. "Roll Damn Tide."

Big mistake, as he was instantly drawn in by her gorgeous face and piercing eyes.

"I...I...should go," he stuttered, making a move to jump off the buggy.

"

Wait

," Lauren pleaded, placing a hand on his forearm, struggling to ignore the unpleasant stench from his clothing. "I just want to know more about the man that saved me from being raped."

Nate looked away, eyes back on the passing scenery. "A fetchin' woman like you ain't got no business being in alleys. What makes you think I wouldn't have done the same thing as those shadies?"

"Would you have?"

"Of course not. But I ain't like them. Younguns today have no respect for life or liberty."

"And you do?"

"I used to."

Squaring her body to his, she pressed him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jackson sighed and Lauren could feel his body relax a little as he sank deeper into the seat. He went on to explain how he had enlisted in the Army as a way to avoid the gang life of Detroit and wound up in Desert Storm for two years. Received an honorable discharge but had nothing to show for it. None of the VA programs helped, since being a military ditch digger in civilian life wasn't much of a resume. Eventually he had worn out his welcome in the homes of friends and family, so he decided to come south where at least he wouldn't freeze to death on the streets.

Lauren felt even more sadness in her heart as she listened to the vet's tale, the pain evident in his voice. She gripped his arm tightly, her hand trembling slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's not right the way our government shits on people. But please know that what you did for me meant something.

Everything

."

It was clear that the wall he had built to protect himself from pain was a thick one. Lauren now understood the reason behind his distrust and hostility. They rode in silence for a few more minutes until she fought through the odor and snuggled up to him, looping her arm around his neck. When Jackson turned his head in surprise, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, the coarse whiskers of his beard tickling her chin.

"Thank you."

The black man's gaze was so intense that it sent chills down Lauren's spine as she unconsciously leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. Their noses touched, and he too shivered despite the warm sixty-five-degree weather. She could see the longing in his eyes, but he remained frozen, unsure of what to do. In the dim light, the bulge in his jeans seemed to grow larger. It was clear that it had been years since he'd had any intimacy with a woman. Any hookers who might be around wouldn't have given him the time of day.

Suddenly, Nate broke away from Lauren's embrace and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Stop, this is me."

Lauren had been so absorbed in his story that she had lost track of where they were. Looking around, she recognized the street and the entrance to the back alley where the cart came to a stop. It was where the courageous ex-private first class lived. If you could call it that.

Stepping out of the rig, Jackson curtly told Lauren to go home, then pulled his hoodie over his head and quickly disappeared into the forbidding darkness of the narrow corridor.

"Where to, pretty lady?" the friendly coolie grinned as he lit another cigarette.

Lauren's eyes flitted between him and the shadows where Nate had vanished without so much as a goodbye. After a moment of reflection, she hurriedly reached into her purse and handed the man twenty-five dollars. He watched as she clamored down off the rickshaw and stood motionless at the alley's entrance.

"Miss, are you sure you want to go in there?" the driver asked with concern.

Lauren hesitated and gathered her sweater tightly before starting down the path cautiously, passing by a dumpster and a grease bin.

"No, I'm not."

+++++

It was well after dark when Corey Miller turned his sleek, brand-new Audi A6 south on I-95 toward Miami. After the morning fishing trip, he and Dale had returned to the office for a grueling meeting with all of Dactyl Construction's thirty-one on-site project managers. The atmosphere in the room had been thick with tension as Corey laid out his expectations, which would not be easy to achieve. Still, he promised to stay out of their hair as long as their projects stayed on track and there were no financial overruns. Unfortunately, not all were as healthy as he would like.

This came to a head when Corey called five of those PMs into his office and let them go. It should have been no surprise to them. Their leadership had been a mess, and they'd been warned several times by Dale Dactyl himself to get things under control. They had not, and today was one of reckoning. Being a hatchet man came with the territory for any incoming executive, but that didn't make it any easier. The pressure to keep many plates spinning was certainly going to be a tall order for Dale's right-hand-man, requiring an iron fist approach.

It was for these reasons and more that Corey's blood pressure remained consistently high despite the doctors' efforts to manage it with medication. There had been some significant decrease in his readings over the last few months which some shrinks might attribute to a rejuvenated relationship with Lauren. As his relief valve, she had indulged his fetish and become the dominant one in their marriage, at least in the bedroom. It was immensely cathartic for him to allow someone else to call the shots, even it was for just a few hours.

And yet, he knew that continuing in the lifestyle, to allow his budding sexual proclivities to widen, was a slippery slope that most men would find abhorrent. To suggest his wife seek out multiple partners was one thing. But to suggest that her cheating on him behind his back would be hotter yet? To admit the risk of losing her provided the same rush as a lose-it-all wager in a high stakes poker game? How absolutely fucking twisted was that? Still, Lauren had agreed to indulge his kink, and not exactly all out of the kindness of her heart. There wasn't any doubt that she liked the sex, and the filthier the better. She had turned into one nasty little slut, a byproduct of his kink, and she enjoyed nothing more than pushing his buttons. The moans, the screams, the dirty talk. All part of the enablement. As a lover, he was mediocre at best. Not only was his age and stamina a factor, but his wittol aberration was so prevalent now that it impacted his ability to perform. The sight of a naked Lauren, a knockout in any guy's eyes, was no longer enough to get him hard. Now, it took exceedingly perverted thoughts of her doing obscene things to get him off.